Promise
by Arya Lupin
Summary: In those final moments I was drowning...drowning in your eyes... (A Harry Potter One-Shot)


**A big thank you to keep-turning-the-pages without whom you would need a key to decipher my bad spelling; You are the best! **

**Chocolate **

"Crucio."

Blaring golden sunlight beamed down.

Soft blades of green grass tickled softly against pale skin, getting stuck on drying blood. Ragged breathing rattled through crushed ribs and white hot pained sliced through every slight movement.

Eyelashes drifted against cold skin, a slight tickling sensation against the burning pain.

A high cool voice laughed and the burning pain softly receded. Her skin felt cold with icy, clammy sweat and warm droplets of blood.

Before there had been screams, yells of her fellow aurors as pain sliced through their bodies.

Blades of grass rustled with a mild wind that blew and gentle white clouds drifted gently across the sky, at times blocking out the sunlight.

That brilliant sunlight yellow pressing against the iris of wide eyes; teeth chattering and ripping into a soft bottom lip.

"Crucio," a cold voice said, highly amused, echoing with laughter.

All around him laughter soared on the wings of a dove; a dead dove which would soon crash in flight.

A prone body lay upon the ground, a silent scream ripping through her throat. Limbs shook as a body jerked upon the ground. A young woman's head slammed back against the unyielding dirt.

A groan ripped through her throat, her limbs twisting and flexing as she rolled over onto her side. One hand lifted and fluttered, falling against her knee.

Breath rattled in and out of her chest, broken and at times ending.

Cold.

So cold.

Sunlight gleamed down on her, yet the warmth did not penetrate through her skin.

Yellow light danced upon her eyes, glaring through the closed lids that she squeezed shut. Each time her eyes fluttered, dried blood would gather upon the lashes, creating a crusty scab. Eyes fluttered hard as she fought to keep them open.

Golden light.

She wanted to see that light, to at least feel the sun which glared down. Despite that, she was unable to feel the warmth.

Although the comfort of heat was unreachable, that soothing yellow light was just beyond the curtain of her eyelids. If only she could get them open, if only her eyes would give her the strength she needed to see.

Tears rolled down her face, mixing with the blood before falling from the side of her nose onto the ground.

Death.

Everything about her stank of death.

"Crucio," the voice rang out again and she bit back a scream, her mouth twisting in agony as she jerked about.

She was like a flobberworm ripped from the ground and left to broil in the noon day sun.

Heat, fiery hot pain from that one spell. It lanced up her sides and danced up and down her legs, holding her body stiff in the fetal position.

Onions.

The smell of rank, rotting onions that had been over cooked and left out to sit for days at a time. The smell rushed over her face, pushing it deep into her nostrils.

Breath which had rattled through her chest came to a standstill. Laughter, rich and deep, echoed throughout her mind. And seconds which would only be minutes began to drag by as her lungs screamed for oxygen.

A long, pointed nail ran up the side of her cheek bone, stopping near the eye before digging its point down.

Pain flickered, yet her body refused to move; the cords for her voice refused to let another whimper of pain pass.

Dying.

She could feel the grip of death reaching long, cold claws out into her skin, into her very being.

Memories flittered through her mind; memories of warm hot chocolate and soft jumpers. Of conversations that she could not remember having, yet somehow they danced in her mind.

Memories or dreams, she could not remember which one it was. Her mind was refusing to process the way it should, the prickling feeling of her hair prodded her cheek; and her eyes begged to shut.

Shut out the world; to turn out the light and to not let another breath draw from her broken chest.

Still, that figure dragged their finger, now tapping its way down her face as the horrific smell of overcooked onions burned through her nose.

A deep rattling breath expelled from whoever lurked above, his or her shadow a contrast against the golden sunlight.

She wanted to see more of the golden sunlight.

She wanted that face which loomed above her to move; it only had to move slightly and the sunlight would gleam down again. She would be safe in its warm glow.

The looming shadow leaned closer, the rattling breath drawing nearer until she could feel their moist breath bearing down upon her skin.

A croak echoed through the creeper's throat, sounding both loud and muffled at the same time.

Lips as disgusting as the breath that slipped from them slid against her skin, leaving a warm trail of spit running up and down her chin.

Laughter bubbled and boiled from the chest; a hand patting down hard against the painful marks. And then the shadow vanished, a man whooped loudly; coldly, a boot slammed down hard upon leg bone and shattered it.

A scream - what felt like the last she had - rose up in her throat. It died out; the breath she no longer had would not allow the scream to slip from her peeling lips.

Pop.

Then silence and nothing but that gleaming sunlight which glared down. Bright sunlight which refused to bring any warmth to her body. Her hand jerked, wanting to reach out, to touch that warm sunlight that she could not feel.

Alone.

She was all alone in a graveyard. Just her and the rattling breath that echoed in and out of her chest.

No other voices, no others cried out, no others sought the quiet respite of the shining sunlight.

That golden sunlight which gleamed down from the sky but was still just beyond her reach.

She wanted that sunlight; to swoop and swing in the sky, flutter through the white clouds and chase that golden ball.

Her friend had once said to chase the gold was freedom. Sweet delectable freedom. Then, he had been speaking about Quiddtich. Yet she could not help but wonder if it applied here as well? If she were to rise up, could she chase that golden ball?

Would it feel as cold in her hands as it felt reflecting on her face?

Or would it burn away her skin, flesh from bone until nothing was left but a smoldering pile of ashes which would blow away upon the wind?

Up above the sharp cry of a bird of prey echoed.

Had they seen the fight?

Had they been waiting all this time to feast upon the flesh of the dead? Would they wait until the last rattling breath left her body? Or would they simply sweep down and begin to feast, heeding no mind to the pain that they may inflict?

Could one feel more pain than this, though?

To feel lost in a cloud of fog, to wish to remember but not think, to feel but not to feel. To hear the words her heart had always sung to hear? To speak them again and to feel arms that would wrap tight about her?

Or were these memories too, made up from the dark lurking corners of her mind?

Had she in fact lived a life without the gentle feeling of loved ones about her? Had she been a stand offish little git all the years she had lived? And had she lived a life like she thought? Or was she a fledgling? A new born girl trying to start out and taking ideas from books she had read?

Did any of it matter anyway?

Did any of this really count as anything more than the last rambling thoughts of a dead woman?

Fingers wiggled and waved; reached out but felt nothing. Nothing to grip onto, no soft jumper or muscled chest.

Rattling breaths fell on ears that heard muted sounds, the soft rustling grass fading until it was a mere echo of what she was once able to hear.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

She knew those sounds. They sounded like that of a car misfiring. Like someone disappearing and reappearing out of thin air?

Yet they sounded so far away, and her eyes felt so heavy.

The pull of sleep was becoming stronger. Sleep would be nice. To sleep and to forget this pain; to chase after the warm sunlight that glared down upon her. To fly upon a broomstick through the soft white clouds. Yes. Sleep was good, and it pulled heavy at her eyelids as if the sand man was sprinkling extra sand upon her eyes.

Yet something pulled at her. A nagging thought in the back of her mind. She had to see him again. But who was _him_?

Was he another made up thought that her mind was trying to trick her with to stay and endure more pain? Or was he real?

Were the long summer walks, the hours of studying, the laughter, the gentle caresses and touches something her mind had conjured up; or really memories that wanted her attention at least for a few more minutes.

Fingers.

They touched and soothed, and created a fiery pain lancing up her side, driving ragged breaths harshly through her aching body.

Lips.

Her lips moved and her eyes fluttered. A name murmuring almost like a plea again and again. Begging, lass." A voice.

Not unkind.

It stirred memories. Memories of augments and stand offs. Of laughter and shared meals during meetings.

A friend.

Yes that was what he was, what the deep groveling voice meant. He was a friend.

Gurgling, bubbling noise slipped through her throat, and again the name which came from far away as though from a book came to her.

"Shush lass," he said again, and hands gently prodded her face. His hair swished and his voice roared out loudly.

She jerked; his hands still gentle, his hands moving softly. "Shush," he whispered again, "easy, lassy."

Hurried footsteps which sent vibrations through her body. Again she whimpered, eyes searching blindly, that yellow light was gone, she could not find the yellow light.

Her hands, they lifted up into the air, searching and groping for the golden sunlight that she wanted to grasp.

Soft, callused hands gripped hers as another person bent beside her. Warm lips pressed against her fingers, heedless of the blood coating them

A hand rose and brushed against her face, his touch gentle. "It's okay. I'm right here. It's okay. No tears."

Tears.

Was he calling her Tears?

Or did he mean the tears which rolled down her face? Tears seemed to be swimming in his eyes too, although he seemed to hold them at bay. His mouth hung in a wry smile and his fingers danced against her forehead.

Words.

There were words slipping from his lips, angry looks passing between him and the other. And then the other was gone, the other's voice yelling out, calling for help. Looking for others that may have lived through the attack.

And still the man stayed. She knew him, of that she was sure. Her eyes fluttered shut again but she forced them upon. Forced them to focus upon the face that loomed above her, one she had brushed again and again with soft finger tips.

Scars ran the length of his face, she had learned them by now, could draw them on the air. Hair, brown hair shot with grey, the perfect length to tug his head down, to tug him closer.

Her hands fluttered again yet she could not get them to lift. It seemed she did not need to though, because he leaned down, resting his forehead against her own as his fingers made soft circles on the sides of her hands ,which he still held.

Chocolate.

His eyes were that of melting, mouth watering chocolate. She could drown in those pools, could crawl inside and live there for eternity….

"…you're okay…." He was talking again. She needed to pay attention to that voice, like soothing melting pools of white chocolate.

A laugh bubbled in her throat, escaping on a ragged sigh. Pain lanced up her side, forcing whatever color remaining away.

"Easy," he said.

"Ch-oc-oo-la-tt-e," the word sound foreign and refused to leave her lips more then a few inches. But laughter danced with worry upon his face and his lips brushed against her forehead. "My," she muttered again before allowing that wonderful scent to surround her.

The scent of chocolate bars and warm hot chocolate while snuggling in front of a fire. The scent of old dust from hours working on some research project or another. The warm hands that clutched against her hair and rubbed circles on her head with good practice from rubbing away hours of headaches.

Chocolate.

Yes.

That at less was familiar.

Chocolate. Her chocolate.

And when she let her eyes flutter open again. Chocolate would be there.

Her chocolate.

Her hero.

And then the words…

"Avada Kadavra!" that same cold voice screamed. Blinding green light surrounded her and from a long way away a second voice… "Avada Kadavra!"

(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)(^_^)

"Sirius…" she breathed, the horrid pain was gone. She knew the place they stood in. A cozy looking living room with a fire burning in its grate.

"Hey, Nymphodora." He was grinning at her, his teeth flashing against tanned skin. The normal panty dropping smile that had often gotten him in trouble over the summers when he stayed with her family.

"Don't call me Nymphodora," she said at once, although he found that it really didn't bother her anymore.

"Touchy as ever I see… How did Moony ever put up with you?" Sirius sniggered. A man was standing beside him. A man that could have been Harry's twin had he not had the wrong colored eyes; the woman next to the man held Harry's eyes, though. The same gorgeous green that bred curiosity.

The man cuffed Sirius about the head as the woman said, "Be nice, Sirius."

"But you're dead," Tonks said, feeling confused. Something was tugging at her. Something she was suppose to remember but whatever it is was fleeting and she could not find it in her to care.

"Yeah, I am… it's fun to trust me," Sirius said and then grinned again, looking past her. Tonks turned her own head, feeling a grin stretch across her own face. "You kept your promise."

"To all of us," The man added, sounding like Harry would when he was a bit older.

"Welcome home, Moony," the woman said… and again Tonks was flying, flying in those deep chocolate brown irises.


End file.
